


The Jacket

by VulpesVulpes713



Series: Fictober 2018 [9]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: During s7, Fictober 2018, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, klance, post castleship explosion, prior to s7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Prompt:"I’ll tell you but you’re not gonna like it.”





	The Jacket

He can’t sleep.

 

Hasn’t been able to ever since the castle…well, kinda  _exploded._

 

And he thinks maybe it’s because of their situation, the whole…wandering space aimlessly with less than half-powered magic lions a gazillion miles from home. From Earth. That shit tends to mess up a sleep schedule pretty efficiently.

 

And though an unknown amount of days had passed since the castleship became space dust, their mourning time for its loss had come and go at different rates. Lance himself found that he missed the privacy more than anything. The space, oddly enough, in which he could lose himself on that ship was immense. 

 

Now though, cramped in the lions with hardly a moment to themselves, drifting in a darkness that even the stars are too scared to fill, privacy means nothing. The coms are constantly buzzing, and the hum of the lions is just another background noise to get used to.

 

Lance figured his dreams would give him some peace at the minimum, but even those are wrecked now. Sleeping is a thing of the past, he guesses, and yawns in resentment as he stands.

 

_What’s the point in trying. I’ll just catch a nap later or whatever. Pass out when my body quits being a piece of trash._

 

He wraps himself in his blanket as he heads towards the cockpit of his lion, thinking perhaps sleep will take him if he pretends to be busy, or distracts his mind long enough to collapse into unconsciousness.

 

He sits at the controls, and sighs, and rubs at his face even though he knows it’s not good for the skin. But what’s the point. He lost all of his creams when the ship…

 

_Nevermind._

 

His eyes drift over the console, bored, unfocused, until they land on a softly glowing purple light.

 

_What…_

 

He blinks, realizing as his mind sharpens what the light represents. It’s one of the lions, active and awake.  

 

Keith’s lion, to be exact.

 

“What are you doing up?” Lance mumbles to himself, before swiping his hand over the console to activate it. His own light flickers on, red next to purple, and almost immediately a com opens up.

 

_“Lance?”_

 

He smiles, amused by the confusion in Keith’s voice, and accepts the call. Keith’s face appears on a screen to his left, and Lance waves lazily as Keith’s eyes scan over him.

 

“Sup dude,” he greets boredly, and Keith frowns.

 

_“Why are you awake? You should be sleeping.”_

 

Lance shrugs, gazing out the front window as he does.

 

“I should be, yeah,” he admits. “But I can’t. It’s too loud. Or…maybe not loud enough? I don’t know..I just, can’t.”

 

He expects to be scolded, or reprimanded, or immediately shut off with a hasty instruction to go back to bed. But Keith surprises him by sighing loudly, nodding as he pushes back the hair in his face.

 

_“Same.”_

 

Lance tilts his head to the side, noticing not for the first time the bags under Keith’s eyes. He had a cream for that back on the ship.

 

_But the ship is gone._

 

 _“Were you having nightmares?”_  Keith goes on after a moment, and Lance is slightly taken aback. It’s not like their leader to initiate conversation. Or pry at all for that matter. But Lance is content with the turn of events, and smiles as he answers.

 

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just…feels like something is missing, I guess. I’m not sure what, but it makes it hard to sleep, like I’m forgetting a step.”

 

Keith hums, contemplative.  

 

“And what about you?” Lance asks him, not so much because he’s curious-he thinks he can guess anyway. Stress, nerves, Coran’s snoring… But he asks nonetheless, because he wants to keep this going. Talking helps keeps his mind off things. Helps calm him. And Keith’s voice is oddly soothing.

 

But Keith doesn’t reply right away, and he avoids eye contact when Lance leans closer to the video feed. He looks…small. Curled up in his chair with his arms around his knees….he’s a child, and he’s frightened.

 

And Lance isn’t sure what to make of that.

 

“You don’t have to tell me, if you don’t-”

 

 _“Hey,”_ Keith interrupts suddenly, and Lance lets him.  _“Is my jacket there?”_

 

Lance pauses, feeling his stomach drop as he processes Keith’s question.

 

_His jacket? Which….oh fuck._

 

Because it clicks. The reason he can’t sleep. The missing step. The sleepless nights.

 

It’s because of Keith’s jacket. It  _has_  to be!

 

“Uh..um-” he chokes, feeling his face heat as he turns away. “Your jacket?”

 

_Play dumb…play dumb!_

 

Because Keith can’t know the truth. Keith can’t find out that…that-!

 

_“Yeah, my jacket. The red one.”_

 

_I know which jacket Keith! I know because-_

 

_“I was pretty sure I left it in Red before I left for the Blades. It should be hanging on the door heading into the farthest storage room.”_

 

And Lance knows this already. And he knows that the jacket will very much  _not_  be there, hanging on the door heading into the farthest storage room. He knows because that’s where it had been when he came to take it, way back when.

 

And as guilty as he had been about stealing Keith’s jacket after he’d left, Lance couldn’t deny the comfort it had brought. It had Keith’s scent woven into the fabric, and for some  _ungodly_  reason, that had helped Lance sleep.

 

But it was a secret. A shameful, embarrassing secret that Lance had planned to take to the grave. He’d anticipated putting the jacket back. It would have been easy, seeing as he piloted Red now.

 

Only, the castleship had exploded. And Keith’s jacket had been hidden beneath the pillow in Lance’s room, turned to ash with the rest of their temporary home.

 

And a sad as that was, it was no measure to the amount of embarrassment filling Red’s cockpit: Lance the beacon guiding it in.

 

“Why…do you want it?” he stalls, hoping to distract Keith long enough to come up with a decent excuse.

 

Keith shrugs, picking at something on his pants.

 

_“Just…hoping for something familiar I guess.”_

 

And that’s the worse answer he could have given, because now Lance is drowning in shame  _and_  guilt for having deprived Keith of one his few belongings. And for what? A moment of weakness? A lingering depression?

 

_Stupid loneliness. Stupid jacket. Stupid Keith and his stupid comforting smell and stupid me for being a stupid idiot and-_

 

_“Lance…?”_

 

He jolts, glancing back at Keith’s face and biting his lower lip nervously.

 

_I have to tell him. I have to let him know._

 

“I…uh, Keith?”

 

_“….Yeah?”_

 

He has to.  _Just spit_ _it out. Tell him you had it and lost it and it’s never coming back. And…he doesn’t have to know you were….like, sleeping with it or anything weird. That’s weird. It’s weird! Keith will think it’s weird._

 

He sighs, defeated, and leans back in his chair.

 

“Your jacket is gone.”

 

 _“What? What happened to it?”_  Keith questions, but his tone isn’t angry. It’s confused, maybe even accepting, like he can connect the dots and make the assumption.

 

“It’s not here.”

 

_I should leave it at that. He’ll know. Hell drop it. He’ll-_

 

 _“But it was in Red,”_  Keith resumes, and Lance is panicking.  _“It shouldn’t have moved from there.”_

 

“Dammit,” he mumbles under his breath, and Keith raises a brow.

 

_“Lance? What happened?”_

 

_Fuck it. Here we go._

 

“Fine… **I’ll tell you, but you’re not gonna like it.** ”

 

_“Okay..?”_

 

Lance inhales deeply, holds it in for a few seconds, then releases it through his nose as steadily as he can. And when he looks back at Keith, he groans internally, praying that he won’t make this awkward.

 

Because that’s what it is. That’s  _all_  it is.

 

Just, awkward.

 

“I…sort of took your jacket.”

 

Keith doesn’t hesitate.

 

_“Why?”_

 

“Uh…well,” Lance can feel himself grasping for an explanation, but nothing adequate comes to mind. He could lie and say Pidge had requested it, but Keith would see through that. He could try to pretend he’d been asked by Hunk to clean it, but again, Keith would find that suspicious.

 

_Could I tell him the mice wanted it?_

 

He shakes his head, which has Keith leaning forward in his own chair, expression growing impatient.

 

 _“Did you lose it on purpose?”_  Keith accuses, frowning as he folds his arms over his chest.  _“Or tear it up? Use it in some game to make fun of me while I was gone?”_

 

And… _what?! No!_

 

“I didn’t-” Lance tries, but Keith shows no sign of stopping.

 

_“I know you guys liked to make fun of it, but it was the only jacket I had and-and I happened to like it and-”_

 

“It’s not like that-”

 

_“-could ask Shiro and he would tell you I’ve had that thing for forever, and to find out you got rid of it for some prank or-”_

 

“Keith wait-”

 

_“-thought we had moved past that stage already but maybe I was wrong. But if you were mad at me you should have just said instead of-”_

 

And Lance can’t take it anymore.

 

“I took it because I  _missed_  you!”

 

The truth bursts forth unhindered by the gates of reasoning in the form of a shout, but it does the trick. Keith’s mouth slams shut, and he gapes at Lance with wide eyes.

 

_“You…what?”_

 

Lance hides his face in his hands, hoping his flushed cheeks don’t show between the cracks of his fingers.

 

“I…took it,” he repeats weakly. “I took it…not long after you left.” He trails off, and a silence stretches on that has Lance gasping for air. He’s suffering: drowning in his own shame, and just when he thinks it can’t get any worse:

 

_“Why?”_

 

“I already told you!” Lance spits, abruptly glaring up at Keith. He shouldn’t have to explain himself. Not like this. Not now. And yet…his mouth starts moving, and the words spill out on their own accord. “I was lonely. And everyone was busy and I just felt…I couldn’t-” he breaks off, staring down at his hands as his vision begins to blur. “I was cleaning Red, and I found the jacket- _your_  jacket. And I…it…it  _smelled_  like you, and-”

 

His face is burning, and he can feel Keith’s stare, but he can’t stop.

 

“I was lonely…and I missed you being around and-and having someone to hang out with and tease. And you were just gone! For so long! So I…I took your jacket, because it made me feel less lonely. And I know it sounds really stupid and weird and you can laugh at me, but the truth is- the truth…”

 

 _“…Yes?”_ Keith prods gently when Lance hesitates, and it’s enough. It’s enough. And suddenly he’s saying it.

 

“It helped me sleep, your jacket.” He glances up at Keith again: stares into eyes so dark they could be as black as the space around them. Only Keith’s eyes hold stars: constellations that Lance finds himself longing to memorize. “I don’t know why, or how, and I don’t really wanna talk about it because anything I say will be weird and uncomfortable but-”

 

And he can’t lie anymore. He can’t tell Keith that he has no idea why his jacket helped him sleep, why it brought him peace and restful dreams. Because he knows,  _he knows,_  but those are secrets too. And he isn’t ready to face them yet.

 

So he shakes his head as he breaks off, pulling his blanket up and over his shoulders as he looks away.

 

“It’s stupid, anyway. I’m sorry I lost it. I meant to grab it before we ran to the lions but-but it was chaos and…I’m sorry. I really am.”

 

There’s no answer, but Lance anticipated that.

 

_He’s mad…._

 

_Or worse. He’s disgusted._

 

But finally the silence is too much for Lance to take, and when he risks looking over at the screen again, he finds it empty. Blank. Keith is gone, and Lance’s chest compresses into a weighted ball of regret.

 

_Oh no, oh god-I ruined it! I shouldn’t have said anything! I shouldn’t-_

 

And then something heavy lands on the ground behind his chair, and Lance screams as a giant wolf jumps into his lap.

 

“KOSMO!?” he yelps, fending off a wet tongue as two massive paws land on his shoulders. His senses are muffled: he can’t see anything but fur, or tastes anything but fur, or  _feel_  anything but fur-

But he can hear, and Keith’s chuckles echo through the coms with a startling clarity.

 

 _“Down, boy,”_ he instructs, and Kosmo obeys with one final lick to Lance’s cheek. And then, there he is: back in the video feed and smiling fondly as his gaze flickers over Lance’s face.

 

_Keith…._

 

_“Sorry, he likes you is all.”_

 

“You don’t say,” Lance mumbles back, eyeing Kosmo briefly. But his attention is quickly pulled back to the boy in the Black lion. He’s glad to see him again, especially since he’s not yelling or flipping him off. So he’s not mad, right? But relief is quickly replaced by confusion as Kosmo sniffs Lance’s hand: nose cold and wet, and all at once that’s all Lance can ponder. “Why did you send him here?”

 

Because Keith  _had_  to have sent Kosmo. The magic space wolf only left Keith’s side with special instruction. So why…?

 

 _“He usually sleeps with me,”_ Keith explains softly, and Kosmo tilts his head as if in understanding.  _“But since I’m awake he’s just been sitting here whining. I know he’s tired, but the stubborn doofus refuses to relax if I’m up. So…”_  Keith’s eyes linger on Lance for a moment, before darting to the ground as he smiles sheepishly.  _“I sent him over to you.”_

 

“Wh-why?” Lance stutters, voice feeble and confused. “I mean…I’m no better. I’m wide awake and-”

 

But Keith shrugs, and Lance trails off. Kosmo turns to stare up at him, whining softly as he places his giant head in Lance’s lap.

 

 _“There, see?”_  Keith quips, gesturing to the wolf.  _“He’s already falling asleep. And in such an uncomfortable position! You should let him sleep in your bed tonight.”_

 

“But I’m not tired-” Lance tries to argue, but a familiar scent is filling his nose. And it’s not wolf fur, or dog breath. It’s something else. Something…better. And Lance flushes as he recognizes what it is.

 

 _“Like I said,”_  Keith goes on, and Lance can practically hear his voice winking. _“He usually sleeps with me, so…”_

 

A whine escapes Lance’s own throat as he ducks his head. Because Keith knows exactly what he’s doing. And sending Kosmo here….well, it’s his way of helping Lance without calling attention to it.

 

So Lance doesn’t hide his smile when he lifts his face. Because Keith could tease him, or poke-fun. He could call him names…make him feel like shit for losing his jacket. But he didn’t. He doesn’t. Instead he’s given Lance exactly what he needed to sleep. That missing piece.

 

The smell of someone familiar filling his nose as his mind wanders the path to dreamtown.

 

Lance wants to fight it now though. He can’t leave Keith alone and awake with no one to talk to. Especially after this! But his body is already growing heavy: his thoughts lethargic, and his resolve is weak.

 

“What about you?” he slurs, sinking deeper into his chair. “You should try to sleep too.”

 

 _“I’ll be fine,”_  Keith replies, and there’s a kindness in his voice that doesn’t quite mask the lie.  _“I’ll be just fine.”_

 

Lance thinks he shakes his head: disagrees with how things are progressing, but sleep is pulling at him with an urgency, and he’s at its mercy.

 

 _“Goodnight, Lance,”_  he hears Keith whisper, eyes slowly closing and making his image blur and fade.  _“Sleep well.”_

 

“Goodnight,” he murmurs back, not wanting to say it but finding no strength to fight back. There’s a low whistle, then a flash of blue light, and all at once Lance is back in his bed with Kosmo tucked up beside him.

 

And it’s quick, the slip from consciousness, like his body is eager to make up for the weeks of restless nights. And when Lance finally commits to shutting his eyes he inhales the familiar smell Kosmo carries on his fur, recognizing it. Savouring it. Wrapping himself in it as his mind goes blank and his heart hums contently.

 

It smells like Keith’s jacket: like sunshine and soil and sweat, but in a good way. A calming way. It’s safe, and reassuring, and friendly and kind…and Lance knows emotions shouldn’t have scents but he can  _smell_  them. He can breathe them in and  _feel_  them! Because they’re right here, right beside him, lingering on the fur of a giant wolf curled up at his side.

 

But it’s not the wolf that helps him doze. And it was never the jacket either.

 

It was Keith.

 

It was always Keith.

 

And Lance falls asleep with an image of purple stars imprinted on his eyelids, wondering at their familiarity.


End file.
